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Lady Midnight's Passing by Ace
Back as I was creating Ace in 2002, this story was written primarily to fill in the relationship between Katya Innokentevna's brother, Dimitri, and Ace during their time in the prison camp together on Lebal. It sort of grew into something a lot longer than intended and ended up not only explaining Ace's loyalty to Katya and giving a further explanation for Dimitri's death but it became sort of the core of Ace's personality which I hadn't quite gotten a firm grip on until I wrote it. ---- Part 1 Her first memories were of pain and fire, an agony that seemed to last for an eternity until blessed oblivion pulled her under. Gradually, as time dragged on and she was left alone with her nightmares in the darkness of the Nall prison camp, she would remember details... Trying to shelter a woman on her left side from the burning wreck behind them and from the hail of weapon fire coming in from the right. Only one way to go... A stray shot...a splinter of exploding wreckage...a piece of flaming debris...something struck the fuel tank before they could get past it... The woman torn from her grasp by the force of the explosion, dead before she knew what hit her… Flinging her arm up to shield her eyes from the ball of fire that erupted with a deafening roar as she was flung across the cavern, the world nothing more than screaming metal and white hot flames... Burning...her gray shirt no more than ash...dropping to the ground, instinct taking over...rolling to try to put out the flames... The twisted metal pipe trailing smoke and fire, traveling in a slow, lazy arc as the left side of her body refused to listen to her and push her out of the way... And then, for the longest time, there was nothing... Her first recollections of consciousness were to a pitch-black world filled with excruciating pain and the murmured sounds of distant voices she could not hear over the screams. It came and went, but always there were the chilling shrieks of agony, deafening and horrifying. Until she realized those screams were her own, and she closed her throat to stop them, the voices finally becoming clear. "Gospadi," one of them, an old man from the sound of it, "Finally passed out again?" A hand on her chest and another voice, different but still male, the accent definitely Ungstiri. "Nyet," he sounded surprised, but there was something else in his voice she could not place. Pity, perhaps? Or horror? "Is awake, I think, God help her." She tried to speak, but her dried, cracked lips would not move and her throat was raw, the result only a dry, rasping sound that was not even remotely human to her own ears. Her whole left side was ablaze with pain that seemed to get worse in certain spots, but she could not turn her head to look, and even if she could, she was still blind. "Do not try to speak," the second voice again, the sound of dripping water and then a cool, wet cloth on her lips that tasted like the sweetest wine to her aching mouth as drops moistened her tongue and ran down her throat. As he spoke, she became aware of an odd sound, like sandpaper on rough wood, from somewhere to her left. "We try to do this when you are sleeping. Is bad, we know...so sorry, but must be done." The older man again, "We are not given any drugs for pain, Nall bastards," his last words were followed by the sound of spitting. "Do not let go, Piotr," another Ungstiri, this one female, soft and quiet but with an underlying tone of authority, "I'm almost finished." She became aware, then, of a gentle but firm pressure on her right shoulder and elbow. She flexed the fingers of her right hand and found them working at least, but when she tried to move her arm she could not. "Da, I have her," the younger man. Piotr. She struggled to firmly attach the name to the voice, "Lie still, deyvachka," he said, "The doctor is almost finished." Woman. Doctor. She locked those to together in her mind. The moist cloth was removed from her mouth and her tongue ventured forth to lick her lips. "What..." she managed to croak, so quiet she was barely able to hear herself. "You are in hospital," the old man answered, surprising her because she did not think anyone could have heard, especially over that annoying rasping sound, "You are very badly burned and we did not think you would live, but Ungstiri seel'niy, da? You surprise us all." More water, the sound of the cloth being soaked again before being offered to her aching lips. "Bad head wound, too," Piotr added, "Almost took your eye, but just missed. Is why you cannot open it...very swollen." "Blind..." Two recognizable words in a row. She was on a roll. "Nyet," the old man answered as he wet the cloth again, "One eye bandaged. Other swollen and stuck a little. Wait..." This time the cool water brushed her temple and then her eyelid as he gently cleaned and soothed her right eye until she could pry the eyelid open. Once the cloth had been pulled away, she blinked, her vision blurred but clear enough to see a man who looked to be at least seventy smiling down at her, "Dobry utra, tovarish," he said, sounding very much as if he were joining her at a bar to share a glass of vodka as he introduced himself, "Minya zavuk Mishka, kak vas zavuk?" Old man. Mishka. Woman. Doctor. Second man. Piotr. Sitting to her right, holding her down with both hands. Big and even younger than she'd first thought. Twenty maybe? And she...her name was...minya zavuk...? "Don't...know..." was all she managed to say in reply. Gospadi, but her head was pounding in time with that irritating scraping and scratching sound. With an effort that left her breathless, she forced her head to turn and look, to see just what it was that was making that damnable noise... If she had had anything in her stomach it would have come back up as her gut did a slow, sickening roll. A middle aged Ungstiri woman sat on her left, holding something in her gloved hands that looked like a piece of meat that had fallen though the grill and on to the coals below. Angry red with pale white patches and flakes of black, oozing fluids as she was scraping the meat raw, sending bits and pieces of burnt... No, not meat. It was an arm. It was *her* arm, and the sound came from the doctor scraping the dead skin from it... With a strangled cry, she mercifully fainted. As time passed, she spent more lucid moments in the hospital bed, gradually growing accustomed to the pain of the debriding, a process that had to be repeated more times than she cared to count. With such primitive conditions as the Nall had given them, there was no surgery, no skin grafts or fancy dermal replacement to be had. Just removing of dead tissue each day until her flesh was finished dying, and then slathering on antibiotic ointment and wrapping it in soft, clean cloth. Antibiotics the Nall would spare as it saved them from losing their workers, but analgesics were not necessary, so like so many other Ungstiri here, she learned to live with the pain. Her arm was a mess, but at least it had shielded most of her face from the flames, and her left side from her shoulder to her thigh had been deeply scorched. The shrapnel from the tank had put a jagged crease in her skull and the force of it had driven the back of her head into the stone as well, and it was all the doctor could do to try and patch it and bind it in place so everything would heal. Weeks went by in a haze as she was confined to bed, at first unable to move and then instructed not to move or else she risked breaking the fragile new skin she was finally beginning to grow back. It was a long, slow convalescence, and the pain and her inability to remember drove her into a deep and dark depression. More than once over the course of her time in the primitive hospital, she gave up trying and had wished herself dead, pulling the i.v. from the back of her hand and even once managing to get her hand on a pair of scissors. It was then that she met someone new, though he did not give his name as he snatched the scissors from her hand, stopping them before they made it to her wrist. "Nyet," he said to her, eyes burning with a deep hatred and anger, "Leesten to me, deyvachka, you safe zat for zee scalebacks, vi paneemayete? Eef you eensist on tyink, to eet vith your hants arount neck, nyi drovnink een self pity. Eef eet hurts, eet ees because zey mate eet hurt, an eef you vish to tie eet ees because zey push't you to zee etdge of teath.” He slapped the scissors back down on the tray, knowing that something as obvious as that would never make it past the guards, though from the way he had eyed them for a moment the thought had clearly occurred to him. "You vant sometheenk to leef for, zen leef to see zem tie.he finished, "Make zem par for vhat zey deet to you ... vhat zey deet to us all. Let zat hatret keep you varm at nite." Before she could respond he had turned and stalked away, heading out the door and into the night. She did not learn that his name was Dimitri until several weeks later, long after she left her sickbed, but his words had given her something to focus on. Although her hatred for the Nall never reached the depths that his did, his words had had their desired effect. There was a war back home, the only thing about her past she remembered, and she would live to get back there one day and defend it against the damned lizards. With a renewed will to live, she put what little energy she had into getting back on her feet. But where time healed her wounds it did nothing for her mind, all memory of a time before the burning fire was simply gone. "We need to call you something," the doctor said one day as she was changing the bandages on her ribs, "Cannot keep saying 'the burned woman nobody thought would live the first night', da?" she said with a chuckle, "How about we call you...Favsta, da? Had aunt by that name...it means 'lucky,' and you, my tovarish, are very lucky to be alive." Months had passed before 'Favsta' was able to walk for any length of time and finally leave the wooden building that the Ungstiri prisoners used for their hospital. But despite the doctor's objections and the fact that her left side was virtually useless, the Nall were quick to put her to work alongside the other captives. If she could walk, they said, she could work. Though she was an Ungstiri, she found it almost impossible to make a connection with her fellow prisoners. With no recollection of anything other than the battle, her recuperation and her imprisonment, she lacked the common knowledge to manage even the slightest social interaction. They would speak of home and work, friends and family, even sports and leisure activities as they tried to guess how their favorite teams were faring just to pass the time. So she would take the work nobody wanted but which she could manage with one arm, hauling the smaller debris to and from the mining cars, never staying in one spot long enough to be able to chat. So she worked beside them without ever really being one of them, putting in the long hours in stoic silence by day and returning to the hospital by night so that the doctor could help her do what little physical therapy she could. Gradually, though, she shunned even that much, having noticed how little time the doctor had to spare. So instead she would continue the exercises on her own, showing up at the hospital just long enough for fresh bandages and a new application of ointment to soften her brittle and stretched out skin. "Is shame I can do no more," the doctor had said, frustrated and angry as she pinned the last bit of gauze in place, "In proper hospital could graft artificial skin, and tendons here," she gestured underneath Favsta's arm where the tight skin had caused the muscle and tendons beneath to be stretched out of place, "Could be fixed with surgery. Could have had you back to your old self months ago, da?" "Spaciba, doctor," Favsta had quietly replied, "Is enough that I live, thanks to you. And do not think 'old self' is something surgery can manage anyway, da?" The only person who she spent much time talking with was Dimitri, who seemed to be consumed with the desire to free himself and his fellow Ungstiri from the camp. "Ve outnumber zem,” he had said, "Can take zem by surprise ... use minink tools, rakes, shofels,and da, efen scissors ... ees much here zat ve can use at veapons." “Da,” she agreed, unable to deny her own desire to see Nall bodies strewn about the camp, but she knew somewhere in the back of her mind that this was a fool’s quest. It was the difference between her and Dimitri, obvious even to her despite her lack of memory. She was a fighter, though in what sense she had no idea, but the instincts and the calluses were there and Dimitri…Dimitri was a glass worker. He had the heart of a warrior, but the burn marks on his hands were not the battle scars on hers. “But is not good to kill Nall if we end up dead beside them,” she sighed, “No good to Ungstir if we die here.” Dimitri had nodded then, still sane enough that he maintained a sound sense of self-preservation. It would take over a year of imprisonment and a heart wrenching tragedy to push him beyond the breaking point. “Agreet,” he had said, “Voult geet home to my family ... to my syestra Katya. I stay't to fite an left her to look after our mat an' brozer, tolt her to leef vhen she vant't to stay. I vant't ...” he sighed and shook his head, “I vant't to be her beeg brozer, da? To be a man she coult look up an be prout ov, especially after Fazer tiet.…” “I can nyi geef up fitink, vu paneemayete? I coult nyi face my family again eef i deet. Coult nyi look Katya een zee eye an' tell her I gafe up." Family. It was everything to an Ungstiri but to Favsta it was a gaping hole in her soul. She could only wonder if she had family left, if any of them had survived, or if she was loved or forgotten or mourned. But though she could not feel with Dimitri felt, one look in his eyes and she could see what drove him. She put a strong hand on his shoulder and locked her dark eyes with his, letting him know that she understood with a nod and a squeeze of her fingers. “Am not asking you to give up, Dimitri. Could never ask you that. You stopped me from dying in hospital when I gave up on living. I owe you everything, da?” "But we must be careful. Is two things to keep in mind before we can do this. First is where to go when we win. Must find out where we are and how to get home. Will do us no good to kill all the Nall here only to find only way off planet is Nall military outpost, da?" "And second," she made sure she had his attention, then, for this reason was far too important for him not to grasp, "Must protect those who cannot fight. The injured, the old...and the children." It had been something that had sickened Favsta when she had first seen it, the sight of children in the camp. Prisoners of a war, they were too young to understand, whose only crime was to be Ungstiri. If ever there was something she could never forgive the Nall for, it was in bringing children into this hell, but at least they were well looked after. What held true at home was even a stronger credo here - Ungstiri were united in taking care of one another. What she did not know was that there was one exception to this rule. Herself. "Is her, I tell you," one of the miners whispered to Piotr as Favsta vanished up the tunnel with a load of debris, "Is the one they call Polunocnica...Lady Midnight...Boromov's pet demoness..." "It cannot be, I tell you," Piotr hissed back, shaking his head, "Is none of Boromov's people the Nall would let live..." "Is because the Nall do not *know*," the miner interrupted, grabbing Piotr's arm and pulling him in closer, "She was wrapped all in bandages when she got here and does not even know her own name. Nall think she is just one of us. They do not know she is one of his lieutenants, let alone one so important and feared by so many!" "How can you be so sure?" Piotr asked, looking up the now empty tunnel, having second thoughts. "Because I saw her once," came the grim reply, the other man's eyes wide and white against his dirt covered face, "Cold as ice, she was, like nightmare knocking at the door. She came to collect debt from my brother. He had borrowed money from Boromov to help start business, but business not do so good and he could not re-pay in time. Then one day little nephew answers the door, and there stood Polunocnica, asking for boy's father to come outside. I watched her through the door, saw her up close as she tells my brother he must pay or suffer consequences. My brother...he begged for time...but she was like stone and would not listen." "Then she moved, so quick I hardly even saw! Snap!" he made a motion with his hands like he was breaking a twig in his hands, "She kicked him and broke his leg. Was so fast he did not see it coming, and cracked his bone clean in two! 'Will be back next week,' she said, 'Have money then or you will thank me for just breaking leg.' Brother had to sell business at big loss to pay off debt." "Did not see at first, but then other day, when she stood in kitchen doorway she turned sideways," the miner moved his head to the left, showing Piotr his right side, "Could not see scars. Is her," he said with a definitive nod. Piotr went back to his digging, continuing the conversation as he worked so the Nall would not become impatient, "Even if she is, so what?" he asked, "She does not remember and is no threat to anyone here. She does her work like rest of us, carries her weight even when hurt like she is." "What do you think this information is worth to Nall?" the miner asked cagily between swings of his pick, "More food? Better conditions?" "Gospadi! Nyet!" Piotr stopped, his pick lodged in the stone, "We are not like rabid dogs to turn on each other! We are Ungstiri...better than that!" "Do not be a fool," the miner hissed, leaning in close as Piotr's voice grew too loud, "Keep voice down and *think*. This war...us being here...is all because of Boromov. The Nall...they wish to kill all things Boromov." As he continued, his voice dropping even lower as Favsta came back down the tunnel with her bucket empty, "And *that* is a Boromov *thing*, tovarish. Think of how much that could buy us." Piotr looked sideways at Favsta as she came down to fill the bucket again and then swung the pick again. "Will talk to council about it tonight," Piotr said, "Will see what they say..." part two The 'council,' such that it was, was comprised of five Ungstiri in camp and had been a natural coming together of people who had a knack for organizing. The doctor had become a central figure early on, and others had begun to gravitate towards her for ideas and assistance, beginning with Mishka, a teacher and scholar who had taken charge of the children almost as soon as they had set foot in the camp. Piotr was an engineer, and once it was discovered that the Nall were to put them all to work in the mines, he found himself organizing the work force and in a position to deal with the Nall face to face on what needed to be done. He did not normally work in the hospital, but when the doctor had needed a strong yet gentle hand to help hold Favsta still, she had turned to Piotr for help. Tanya was their fourth, a clerk with an incredible memory who had ended up in charge of the meager supplies given to them by their captors. Kapitan Danov was the remaining member, a militia captain who had lost his leg in a wall collapse and who was the last to join them that night as they gathered in the hospital storeroom. "Da," he said as he eased himself down on a crate, "Is her. Knew her when she was in militia...before she put on hat and coat." The tension in the tiny room was thick and the silence hung heavily in the room until Piotr finally spoke up. "So...what do we do?" "She is one of us," Mishka said quietly but firmly, "Is enough for me." "Is Boromov," growled Danov with a shake of his head, "Boromov brought this down on our heads. I say we use one of his own to buy what we can." "I do not care if she truly were Polunocnica herself," Tanya said, nodding towards Mishka, "We have all seen what the Nall can do. Would not turn over even worst enemy to them." Piotr's eyes never left the floor as he spoke, his foot scuffing the worn wood, "Is worth it, I think," he said, sounding only half convinced, "To give up one to save many. If we can get more blankets or food...is worth it." One by one all eyes in the room turned to the doctor who sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap. It was a long time before she said anything, every word carefully weighed before spoken. "Was long fight for her to live," she said, "Much work for me, much strength from her. Was not easy, and to do this is to cast all of that aside." "But..." Another pause, a deep sigh. "Piotr is right. Is time to weigh the one life against so many others. 'If it is given me to save a life, all thanks.’” She recited, “‘But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty.' That is the oath I took when I became a doctor," she shook her head in sadness, "Every day I lose patients because I do not have medicines I need. People do not recover from being sick because they do not have enough to eat." She raised her eyes from her hands and looked at the other four. "But if we are to sell this life, we do not sell it cheap. In morning I will speak with Nall camp commander and make what bargain I can. I see how much I can get in trade for one Boromov demon and an old doctor's soul." She rose to her feet as the others began to object. "Nyet," she said, speaking not out of any sense of self-importance but out of logical practicality, "They know I keep workers alive and there is no replacing me. If they do not offer enough, I can refuse to tell them more and there will likely be no reprisal. They cannot afford not to have me here." It was a tired doctor who stepped out of the hospital the following morning, her night having been spent tossing and turning and not sleeping at all. Still, her mind was made up even if her heart was not, and she pointed herself towards the gate, determined to request a meeting with the Nall camp commander. The rest of the camp was preparing to head out for the mines, gathering their gear and heading towards the trucks that would take them up the mountain for the rest of the day. Those children too young to be of any use in the mines were allowed to stay behind with Mishka to look after them, and already they were engaged in a rather heated and loud game of tag. They ran and tumbled around the yard, so easily caught up in the spirit of the game, their surroundings forgotten in lieu of finding someone else to be 'it.' The doctor stopped for a moment, not alone in her observations as several other people paused to watch the children as they dashed in and out of the buildings. Across from the hospital, Favsta leaned against the corner of the storage shed, a small smile touching her lips as one little boy literally tripped over another as he yelled 'you're it!' and the game began again in earnest. So focused on his target, the new 'it' did not see the Nall guard coming around the corner, and as the girl he was chasing ducked aside, he ran full tilt into the Nall, landing in a heap at it's feet. There are times in life when the world seems to hold its collective breath, when everyone freezes in place and is unable to move as they wait to see what will happen next… Someone broke the silence with a scream as the Nall snarled; its hand rising to strike the frightened child as he cowered down in the dirt. The clawed hand descended, the blow aimed for the boy's head, coming within inches of its target when a body slammed into the Nalls knocking it sideways into the wall of the building it had been coming around. When the dust cleared, the Nall was back on its feet as was Favsta who had rolled on her good shoulder to end up crouched between the Nall and the child. For a moment the two stared each other down, one a determined Ungstiri, the other a stunned Nall, mouth open in disbelief that a lowly prisoner would dare lay a hand on him. Behind her, the child sat shivering, afraid to move and draw the attention of the guard who had just tried to kill him. There was no doubt as to what the outcome would be. Even if Favsta were not favoring her left side so heavily, unarmed and unarmored she stood no chance against the Nall, and it knew it, hissing its displeasure as it prepared to tear her apart limb from limb. But before the guard could strike, a loud hiss drew his attention as the camp commander arrived from the gate, having been swiftly called by one of the tower guards overseeing the yard. His very presence drew all attention to him as he crossed to where the two would-be combatants stood, contemptuously ignoring the Ungstiri as if she did not exist in favor of a hissed exchange with his subordinate. The guard appeared angry, but the camp commander put him in his place, finally turning to look at the Ungstiri who was the cause of all the trouble. "Ssssso ssssoftsssskin," it looked at her coldly, supremely confident, "You dare to sssstrike one of your bettersssss?" Favsta did not move, meeting the Nall's gaze, determined to die on her feet and not groveling in the dirt. "Da," she replied with a slow nod, "To stop him from hitting child." "Hatchling sssstruck him firssst?" "Da," she said, no point in arguing, still standing her ground, "Is child...hatchling," she corrected herself, "Was playing game, nothing more." "Which issss reasssson I will not kill you for your transsssgressssion," he answered, "But punissshment issss due, jussstice is ssssimple. One blow wasss ssstruck, ssso one blow issss returned by offended party." The guard moved up to stand beside his commander, looking perversely pleased at the thought of meting out the punishment. Favsta clenched her jaw, nodding once in response, "Will accept punishment." The guard began to move forward, flexing his taloned fingers, but the other Nall stopped him. "Ssssoftssskin hit you from behind," he said to the guard before turning back to Favsta, "Turn and kneel, sssssoftsssskin." A heartbeat, then two before she turned and dropped smoothly to her knees, appreciating what the commander had just done for her but not understanding why. A straight shot to the front could easily leave her disemboweled, but from the back she was better protected, provided the guard left her spine intact. There was another hissed exchange from behind her and then she was flung forward, catching herself on her palms as the air was knocked from her lungs. The shock of the blow left her back mercifully numb for the moment, allowing her to catch her breath and slowly rise back to her feet. She could not see the blood that streamed from the slices in her back, but she could feel the wind through the torn coveralls and the cloth beginning to stick to her skin. She turned, then, to face the commander, ignoring his subordinate as she once again let her eyes meet those of the Nall in charge. Taking great care not to fall over, she bowed to him, not a bow of obedience but one of deference...a respect for the Nall who just saved her life. "Is finished?" she asked, not knowing if more was expected of her but hoping there was not. She wasn't sure she could stay on her feet much longer, the sound of her blood dripping to the ground seeming to echo loudly in her ears. "No,” it said, pointing a taloned finger at the child, " Punisssshment for hatchling. To teach it resssspect." "Nyet," she answered without thinking, drawing a sharp motion of the Nall's head, it's fanged mouth drawing close to her face as it hissed it's displeasure at her insolence. "Am responsible for hatchling," she continued, lowering her head in hopes of diffusing the Nall's anger, "Will accept his punishment for him." By now a good size crowd had gathered, the trucks standing still by the gate as the workers circled around. The remaining children were gathered behind the adults, clinging to legs or being held and quieted by anyone who would pick them up. "Nyet," the doctor said to Mishka who had come up to stand beside her, starting to move forward, "Another hit like that will kill her..." But Mishka stopped her with a hand on her arm, "Argue with him now and he might take it out on little Grigory." Others standing around clearly felt the same way, for many eyes burned with anger and frustration as they watched, helpless to do anything for fear they might make things even worse. "Very well," the Nall finally said, nodding to Favsta with something that almost seemed like respect, "Turn and kneel," it repeated, stepping forward himself this time much to the annoyance of the guard who hissed but backed off. By now Grigory had gotten brave enough to raise his head, shaking and crying as he looked up at Favsta. For his sake, she managed a smile and a wink, "Almost over, mal'chik. Stay quiet just a bit more." It was a bravado she did not feel as the initial shock of the Nall's blow began to wear off and the pain began to set in. She didn't think she'd be able to take another shot like the first, but she could not stand by and let them 'punish' a child. Nobody that young should have to carry such scars. Behind her, the camp commander raised his hand, the crowd around drawing a collective breath as eyes were averted. Some stepped forward, wanting to intervene but were stopped by others, and a few openly wept in fear and horror. And then with a slow and deliberate motion, the Nall brought the tip of a single talon to Favsta's shoulder and cut a slice across her back, neatly bisecting the slash marks left by the guard's vicious strike. "We do not kill our hatchlingsssss," it explained as it finished, leaving a painful but shallow cut in the wake of his claw, "And we do not sssstrike them crippling blowsssss in anger." "Thissss will not happen again." No one was sure if the commander was addressing the last comment to Favsta or to his subordinate, but either way there were never any other threats made against the children. The commanders leaving was a signal to the Ungstiri who moved almost as one, surging forward to surround Grigory and Favsta in a protective circle. In an instant the boy was scooped up and taken back to be with the other children as the crowd pressed in close around his protector. With so many hands reaching for her, there was no way Favsta could hit the ground, though she had started to pitch forward in that direction. Words of encouragement, of praise and of thanks were murmured all around as she was pulled to her feet, supported on both sides as a path suddenly cleared to the hospital door. "Mishka," the doctor said as she moved to receive her latest patient, "Tell the others I have changed my mind. Tell them...tell them that this Polunocnica they spoke of...that she is already dead, da?" Mishka nodded and stood aside as Favsta was brought in, the doctor following right behind and barking orders to the numerous people who wanted to assist. There was never talk in the camp again about turning her over to the Nall, the secret remaining between the six people who never told a soul. Of those six, only three survived, Piotr and the miner dying when a shaft collapsed, and Danov taking on a fever before the next month was out. Over the remaining year they spent in the camp, Favsta still remained an outsider, still unable to relate to her fellow Ungstiri, but at the same time she still was now one of them, always watching out for them. Her stand in the yard that day had gained her an unspoken respect from the Nall, and more than once a potentially explosive situation was diffused by her presence. Still, she hated them for taking away her home and her memory, for the cruelties they inflicted during their stay at the camp, but most of all for the children, for not all of them survived the camp, either. One in particular had captured the hearts of so many, a girl named Alisa with dark hair that hung in bright hazel eyes. Just over ten years old, she was deemed old enough to work in the mines and had the job of running messages and errands up and down the tunnels. There was no end of energy her, she never tired and would more often than not perform some agile but unskilled tumble or cartwheel as she went, bringing smiles to the faces of those who she passed. And always she was climbing, taking shortcuts to deliver messages despite the repeated warnings and scolding from the adults. It was as if her constant running and scaling of rocks was her way of escaping the dismal realities of the camp below. Though so many thought that such antics would be the death of her, it was a rock lizard that caught her unawares. Reaching for a handhold, it sunk its teeth into her hand, its deadly venom hitting her bloodstream and sending her toppling to the ground below. Rumor had it that the Nall had an anti-toxin but refused to give any to the child. Although the doctor had tried to explain that the anti-toxin was Nall specific and would have done little Alisa no good, for many of the prisoners it was just another example of how evil the Nall truly were. Just a week before their release, Alisa had passed away. It hit many of them hard, but for reasons Favsta didn’t understand at the time, it hit Dimitri hardest of all. She had had to tackle him in the yard when he found out as he had turned to charge the nearest Nall, and it took her hours to calm him down to the point she felt she could leave him alone. So many times before she and Dimitri had planned late into the night how best to kill their captors and make their way to freedom. But always she would come up with a reason to wait, pushing him to gather more information before making his move, stalling him as best she could in hopes that they would one day fight the Nall side by side and drive them from Ungstir together. She had never expected him to slay the priest, never thought his hatred would push him so far, especially on the day they were being released. It wasn’t until she met Katya, saw the bright hazel eyes beneath dark bangs that she made the connection and understood what had driven Dimitri to his death. When she found out Dimitri had died, it was the only time she had ever wept, and when she left the Nall prison camp she took only one thing with her. Slipped into her pocket in the confusion, a single broken spearhead that had been hidden beneath the refrigerator, waiting for a time when she and Dimitri would lead their fellow prisoners against their Nall captors. He had used it to strike at the heart of the Nall, his rage overwhelming him at the site of one of their spiritual leaders within his reach. The spearhead was a reminder to her of the man who had dragged her from the depths of depression and gave her something to fight for…a reminder to never give up. category:OtherSpace Stories